


Everyone Knows

by curiouslyfic



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M, kink: dominance/submission - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-10
Updated: 2010-06-10
Packaged: 2017-10-10 01:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslyfic/pseuds/curiouslyfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim always pushes. It's not often someone pushes back. Written for rounds-of-kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everyone Knows

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://enkanowen.livejournal.com/profile)[**enkanowen**](http://enkanowen.livejournal.com/)  for the beta and [](http://porridgebird.livejournal.com/profile)[**porridgebird**](http://porridgebird.livejournal.com/)  for the thinky thoughts.

Everyone knows about the captain. How restless he is. He's made his name saving the world and it's worked for him, put him on the fast track through Starfleet command and earned him his own ship, but it's also made him something of a legend in his own time and there's no one aboard The Enterprise who hasn't heard the tale.

Some version of it, anyway.

Everyone knows the captain's sex in a uniform. How he's already fucked half his bridge and hell, he's probably saving the other half for a special occasion. Maybe a Friday. Maybe next time Dr. McCoy drags him down to medical for an overnight stay. Jim Kirk's never more than a grin from stripping down and everyone on The Enterprise knows it like they know his name.

Like they know not to call him "Cupcake" to his face unless they're security and really, really drunk and trying to get fired because they really, really miss Earth.

Everyone knows about the captain's temper. How whip-fast it is. How he fought with Spock--yeah, his First Officer--on the bridge before he dragged the whole ship off to war. Everyone knows about Spock, most people remember him from the Academy, so it wins the captain a little ship cred that he, like, made the guy snap and emote and everything but all the same, they have to wonder about how he did it. (Picking on a guy when his mom's just died is kind of cold. Doing it when his home world's just blown up in front of him, doing it just to get control of the ship, that's maybe unforgivable.)

Everyone knows just enough about what happened to have their doubts but no one on the bridge to actually see it will talk in any detail so it's up to the crew in general to come up with answers on their own.

Everyone knows the captain makes Uhura seethe, that he's the only one who still tries anything with Dr. McCoy, that he still smirks a bit at Chekov's accent and eggs Scotty on. That he's weird and moody sometimes if you know how to look and that when he's hanging out outside a training room, it's always better to just leave him alone. He's not a bad guy, not really, they don't think, but they maintain a healthy level of doubt. Sure, Captain--Admiral--Pike thinks he's great and yeah, his dad did something heroic when the captain was born and yeah, yeah, he helped take down Nero, but so did Spock.

And Spock didn't cheat on the Kobayashi Maru.

There's always gossip on a starship and The Enterprise runs on it, focuses on their bridge and spins a hundred stories for every shift they can only imagine. Maybe it's different on other starships, ones without crazy maybe-suicidal captains who weren't almost-maybe expelled at the First Officer's request, but almost everyone on The Enterprise is brand spanking new to this deployment deal, straight out of the Academy and already neck-deep in things they never mentioned in class.

The Enterprise is a beast all its own. When it's not holy shit scary, space is pretty dull.

The best speculation's on how the captain unwinds. It's got to be tense up on that bridge, everyone knows the xenolinguist is one wisecrack away from laying him flat, Uhura's infamous for not putting up with shit from anyone, captain or not, and if Spock's got a sense of humour, it's a better-kept secret than how the captain earned his rank (on his knees, totally on his knees, just look at his mouth).

It's got to be sex. Everyone says so. It's not the obvious, not Uhura (she may as well be wearing a sign, seriously, everyone's praying they're on board when Spock goes into Pon Farr and there's already a pool on whether she'll leave her post long enough to get the deed done, whether she'll just make him do her hard over her console right there on the bridge. It's not like the captain's going to object.).

Medical says he's fighting it off because hey, three separate nurses have seen Dr. McCoy patch him up when they think no one's watching and isn't it scandalous that the captain calls him Bones? Maybe that's telling. There's a coffee klatch on third shift in Engineering dedicated to sniffing out evidence and in the six months they've been underway, all three nurses have stopped by to give testimony over snacks.

The only thing Security and Engineering agree on is how good the captain looks when he's bruised. Not all of Security (or Engineering, but you can't count on those guys to notice anything unless it's got tits) agrees that captain's been fighting. He's not doing it with any of them and hey, who else on this ship has any kind of combat training worth that kind of time? The captain's bruised every day, new scratches and marks peeking through his uniform when he moves, a dozen different colours that just add fuel to the speculative fire.

Security mostly figures he likes it rough and he's getting it from somewhere the internal sensors can't see. A blowjob bribe gets two of the Engineering klatch access to the logs for a week and they don't find anything worth getting back on their knees. Whoever the captain's doing (and he has to be doing someone, life can't be that cruel, he can't be six kinds of wank fantasy and keeping it in his pants), it's someone with stealth.

That narrows the field considerably and keeps the klatch busy for weeks. Then the boss ("Call me Scotty, really, it's fine--get down from there, you blasted daft thing!") has an all-nighter with Keenser and they're buried in work overhauling the propulsion systems because apparently, what they've got isn't enough for the captain.

There is relentless speculation on why he always wants more. Maybe they've been approaching this the wrong way. (Maybe, just maybe, the captain's getting it on with a group. He's sex on legs, it's totally possible. A flurry of favours swap hands as they try to work out who's probably in the timeshare.)

The klatch spends four days of coffee breaks and downtime watching Lt. Uhura's every move, fiercely debating whether she'd share. (Maybe. It's possible. They can't count her out.)

Word from Medical is that Chekov's a no. He's tagged for a full work-up when he brings back something nasty from an away mission (damn it, do they have to add natives to the chart? If the captain's not dragging them head-on into possible death every day, the klatch is positive they have no business maybe getting in his pants). Perhaps his attendant spends longer than absolutely necessary filling out a certain section of Chekov's chart but with xeno-biohazards, one can't be too careful and anyway, who knows how it's spread? No one wants an alien STI running unchecked. (Okay, maybe it's something he ate and maybe he said that a lot but that's no call for Dr. McCoy to yell.) Besides, Chekov's jailbait. They were only looking out for him, making sure no one was taking advantage of the poor little guy.

Security mostly decides the captain's got a rage problem he's burning off by himself. Of course, Security also calls him "Cupcake" when no one's around and really, did they think the klatch wouldn't notice that sort of thing? This is why brains beat brawn.

Medical throws up their hands. Whoever the captain's fucking, he's not using lube. (They've got someone watching that supply and no, the captain's never been in to ask for any so maybe he's getting it straight from Dr. McCoy? Engineering thinks so but Medical won't hear that kind of talk and for two days, there's nothing but awkward silence and dirty looks in the halls. They finally make up when the First Officer comes back from an away mission concussed and the captain spends a night in Medical waiting with Uhura by his bed.)

Word is someone from Science offered to DNA test the captain's sheets but no one will admit to it, which pretty much everyone but Science agrees is a shame. There's a small fortune of favours in the pot already and since that fertility festival away mission, there's a new flood of takers from the soft sciences.  (Seriously, would it kill them to bring back video of those? The anthropologists can't work out anything good from the captain's really vague reports.) 

(After furious debate, the klatch agrees to consider alien princesses a single category because keeping track of them individually is screwing up the spread.)

Then things calm down. The Enterprise has a skirmish with Romulans that turns everyone grim and yeah, sure, the bridge doesn't think it's a big deal but everyone with any sense waits to go back on Red Alert because hey, it's not like the bridge isn't stocked full of crazy. Compared to maybe dying again (and really, let's not talk about those tense few days Engineering spent repairing the warp coil because the boss keeps telling them it's no big deal, they weren't going to die, he'd given it all he had and he wasn't about to let his pretty ship blow before he'd properly wooed her), speculating on the captain's sex life kind of pales.

And anyway, shore leave. Two whole days dirt-side on a Federation planet light years from Earth and all Starfleet's regulations on appropriate behaviour and hey, only three arrests. Everyone agrees their First Officer's a genius at diplomacy, even if he is freaking cold, and no one gets executed or corporally punished or court martialled, so it's a win all around, really.

And all right, the fresh bruises on the captain's neck totally look like hickeys but that doesn't explain his split lip (no one with access to that mouth, sexually speaking, would want to wreck it like that because God, that's a mouth to take straight back to the bunk). It has to be a fight. Probably some bridge bonding thing, because Lt. Sulu's bruised, too,  only no one cares that much until an ensign with a few shifts in navigation points out Lt. Sulu's the pilot, so he's totally from the bridge. It explains why Dr. McCoy drags the captain into his office snickering and doesn't let him out until the captain's adorably flushed. (Medical immediately designates that his fuck-face and spends a whole Stitch'n'Bitch trying to recreate it accurately.)

They resolve that it's nothing new. Stuff everyone knows. The captain's got a temper, the captain's absurdly loyal, the captain can find trouble in an empty room and hey, he's always willing to drag his friends along for the ride.

There's no mystery to James T. Kirk, just things everyone knows. Everything about the guy's right there on the surface, brain, brawn, and heart, and any speculation to the contrary's just got to be overactive imaginations cut off from home. No one really looks deeper because honestly, what's there to find?

Certainly not hollow eyes and a brittle smile every time they lose someone. Not long nights spent in his chair, staring speculatively into the deep dark of space and wondering what else will go wrong, how many more letters he'll be writing to relatives talking about crew members he barely knew and praying he's as much like his dad as Pike thinks.

Certainly not dark eyes glassy and tired watching him brood with the same relentless patience they've watched him seethe, watched him turn soldier and leader and comedian by turns while the restlessness of space and his position eat away at the devil gleam in his smirk.

Not a soft smile and a firm tone pulling him away, leading him to the turbo lift and down to his quarters at the end of another crazy shift with nothing more than steady, quiet words and an unshakable air of command. Not the fast fists in the training room taking him down when he needs a fight, not the razor edge of a blade pressed at his throat when he mocks fencing's use as hand-to-hand.

No one sees the way Hikaru doesn't watch Jim on the bridge because he's still a distraction, even after six months, and maybe Jim goes down for nothing more than a light touch and an arched brow but Hikaru doesn't kid himself he's got a lifestyle submissive by any means. What he's got is six feet of sometimes irritable, often irritating  superior officer who needs to be stripped down, taken hard and reminded that there's more to authority than rank. That Jim can bait and taunt and mock all he wants but someone's got his number, knows what buttons to hit and has a pretty clear understanding of when Jim needs them pushed.

Jim tastes like soap and sweat and space, recycled air and too much tension. He feels comfortably like the ship in Hikaru's hands, easily led with enough training but sharp and new and stubborn, too, eager to kick back at the slightest misstep. When Hikaru handles him rough, shoves him against a wall and licks and sucks and bites, Jim bucks and whimpers and claws long before he's naked, thick cock pulsing into Hikaru's fist as Jim snarls his name. Jim never fights that at all, just throws himself into it like one more space jump he knows he'll land.

The trouble comes when Hikaru goes easy on him, takes it slow so he can stretch it out. He has to tell Jim to hold still, control, focus, concentration, I know what you want; Jesus, learn to wait. Has to threaten restraints and he has to mean it. He's tied Jim's wrists with his black uniform shirt, stretched it all out of shape as he hitched the knot and then again when he licks a wet trail down Jim's chest and Jim arches up to spur him on. He's held Jim at sword-point and made him strip, made him cup himself and stroke himself and bitten his nipples when he's been good, when he's kept himself from coming until Hikaru gives the command.

Despite Jim's long and varied history bucking rules and authority in most forms, he's a gift to the right player, stubborn as fuck and oh so easy once he's decided he will be. His mouth's a wet dream, if better when bitten, and he's built like a sex toy, all lean muscle and smooth skin under crisp hair and the faint sketches of scars that mark him. He flirts like he breathes, constant and easy, but it's worse when he's needy, when he wants to be claimed, and Hikaru regrets the bruises he leaves only when Bones calls him in to discuss them. Bones wants to know that Jim is all right, that it's all consensual, and Hikaru would laugh if Bones weren't so stern and resolved about it. It's a little like answering Spock's non-questions or Uhura's narrowed eyes; their business because it's Jim but his right not to tell them beyond subtle assurances.

Jim Kirk takes a strong hand and Hikaru's willing.

Hikaru's always willing.

He can't imagine why he wouldn't be, for the feel of Jim's mouth, the way Jim's eyes bloom. The right word, the right touch, a hard wrapped hard around his throat and a tone that takes no bullshit when Jim's wandered off with a native again and that fast, that simple, Jim's all his, spread wide and taking it all with a spit-slicked mouth and hands he can't help curling into useless fists.  (Hikaru has no clue how Jim wasn't limping after that orgy festival mission because Hikaru hadn't spared his hand, just gripped hard and clawed and bruised and scraped raw all the skin he could get, Jim's ass flushed red in a wash of handprints rushing blood to the surface as Hikaru relaid his claim.)

The sounds he makes when he's smacked, pants at his ankles and ass high in Hikaru's lap, the shiver in his voice as he counts them off and tries to rub his erection on Hikaru's thigh, those sounds are all Hikaru's and some things, he won't share.

Jim tries so hard to stay still, to stay silent like he's been told, but the feel of lubed fingers tracing his ass crack is too much for him. He shifts and grinds and growls until Hikaru stills his hand and plants the other at the base of Jim's spine to hold him still.  
Always, like clockwork. Hikaru usually has to tell him what he's done, too, though that happens less frequently as Jim learns the rules.

If all he wants sex, Jim Kirk can get it anywhere he wants. He's charming, gorgeous, and friendly: the universe is his harem and there's nothing Hikaru can or will do to stop that. That's not what this is, anyway.

If he wants more, wants the freedom that comes with Hikaru's direction, Jim needs to learn how to behave.

Jim's control always burns up in his impatience but Hikaru sees the small, simple gains he's made in how much longer Jim lasts now before he begs.

Hikaru's been around power games his whole life and he's never seen anything quite like Jim begging.

He has no doubt his friends back home wouldn't consider this begging but then, they don't know Jim. Wouldn't see him if they did.

None of the crew has. But then, doesn't everyone know there's nothing to see?

 


End file.
